I click, click, clicked down the cheerful hallway's primary-colored tiles. Quiet now; kids were in classrooms unpacking bags, getting started with morning work, and asking to visit other places in the school.
You know how that goes.
Enjoying the momentary solitude, I counted permission slips filed between my fingers as I headed to the third grade pod to collect theirs for an upcoming family event.
It was interrupted though. In grand fashion.
"I know you!" Yes, and I know you, too -- you've been the subject of many a meeting over the past few years.
"Good morning! How are you today?"
"Hey, um, everyone says you're having a baby. Are you?"
Shrink. Dissipate. Disappear.
Sooooo, I'll come clean.
I'm like the bear who hibernates when the temperatures drop -- I hunker down, I eat...I even snack, I savor the comfort of soul-satisfying dishes -- and this year has been no exception. Buying the Starbucks January Espresso tumbler, which served up a grande beverage of my choice each day during the month, didn't help my case. Oh, and we bought potato chips the past couple trips to the grocery store. Everyone knows how that works out. Especially when you're not used to having them. Binge. Oh, and there's the fact that our baby likes to hit the hay at 6:30, so usually dinnertime is an absolute blur between my attempts at efficiency and his tired protests, which leaves me feeling like I missed the meal completely...round about 8:30 or 9:00 p.m. And who likes to go to bed hungry?
I know, I know. Each line item above conspires against me.
"Who says I'm having a baby?" I looked down at the tunic sweater hanging generously over my elastic-waist leggings.
Aaaaaand, Marie Winsor and I will begin dating again.
Me. Her. Pilates. The fat-burning workout. In the basement.